Back to the Beginning
by Han Solo
Summary: DESTINATION: Wednesday, November 19, 1980, 8:04 a.m. HILL VALLEY, CALIFORNIA: Today 12-year-old Marty McFly is destined to meet the crazy scientist known as Doctor Emmitt Brown...
1. Default Chapter

"_Better that I devote myself to studying the other_

_Great mystery of the universe— women."_

_-Doctor Emmett L. Brown_

·**Prologue**·

November 1980 

The eccentric and slightly mad scientist, Doctor Emmett L. Brown, picked up the greasy wrench from the table and loosened a bolt on his latest invention, a peculiar looking coffee maker. When in fact, the coffee maker did more than make coffee. It was attached to an analog clock, set to go off at precisely 7:00 a.m. The clock was also assigned to trigger several other household appliances in a chain reaction, all set to go off in sequence. Being so, when the Doctor tested his invention, carefully moving the hands on the clock to display the seventh hour, he started the chain, for in seconds, the radio nearby automatically came to life, and in the blink of an eye, a light appeared on the coffee maker, and began making a batch of coffee. Dr. Brown smiled proudly as he watched his project work fittingly. He was working on this stimulating invention in his home, a four-car garage, which was the sole survivor of a beautiful mansion that had once stood upon the hill nearby. This garage had since been remodeled as his living quarters, as well as a small repair shop, which stood as a front for his lab, where he continued to produce his inventions.

He was also a dedicated Physics professor at the local university in nearby Nevada City. He normally worked on his inventions during the weekends, but still found enough time during the week to occasionally keep up his hobby. The low profiled Doctor Brown was tall, well built, and quite physically active for a 60-year-old man with a full head of grayish white hair. He was dressed with bizarre apparel consisting of a silk, blue and white T-shirt, tan trousers, and a long, white lab coat.

Despite his career at the local college, very few residents of Hill Valley knew the truth behind the so-called crazy scientist who lived in his garage. Nor did they think much of him or his crazy inventions. Locals avoided him, but knew everything but the truth. One rumor had explained the burnt ruins of his mansion, destroyed back in 1963, as a mysterious experiment gone wrong. But no one ever hears the same story twice.

As the coffee finished percolating, Doctor Brown poured himself a cup and turned his attention to a different project, a 1957 Mercedes-Benz 300SL. Its silver body was still as shiny as it had been when he had purchased it 23 years ago. He had since added several minor inventions to this rare automobile, inventions which were supposed to make driving easier or more enjoyable. Tonight, he had yet another advanced technological adjustment to give to the car. He computed some equations into his calculator. According to his recent data, this car might just be capable of what he had planned.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One 

**Wednesday, November 19, 1980, 8:04 a.m.**

The blood red sun rose in the eastern horizon above the proud town of Hill Valley, California. The autumn sky blazed with sunshine above the small farming community. Its warmth dried the crisp, crackling leaves on the old sycamores shading the neighborhood streets of Lyon Estates, the home of the McFly's.

They were a family of five, a family not unusual, nor peculiar, merely an average family getting ready for the long, average day ahead.

"Martin McFly, you're going to be late for school!" Marty's mom shouted down the hall.

Twelve-year-old Marty McFly was, as usual, running late. As quickly as he could, he scampered out of bed and dressed himself. Dashing from room to room, he got ready in a fourth of the time it takes him if his alarm clock doesn't fail. As he passed through the kitchen, he said good morning to his mother and kissed her on the cheek. He greeted his dad with a 'morning pop', but George McFly did not budge from his TV show.

Their house was a typical ranch home in Lyon Estates, a housing development on the East Side of Hill Valley. They were a normal blue-collar family; George was a financial advisor and Lorraine was unemployed, a housewife in simple terms. He was a major pushover; she was an alcoholic.

They had three kids, 2 boys and one girl. David and Linda were in high school and Marty, the youngest, was in 7th grade. 19 year-old David was the oldest, but was 2 credits short of graduating with his class next spring. Linda was 2 years older than Marty and couldn't get a date if her life depended on it.

Marty had the dream of one day becoming a wealthy instrumentalist in a popular rock band. The only thing that stopped him was that he didn't have a guitar, or the experience. However, he did have a splendid singing voice for a twelve-year-old.

He was shorter than most kids his age and was often misrepresented as being younger than his twelve something years. Aside from being short, his main weaknesses were that he didn't take lightly to insults and name-calling. He also was never on time for anything.

Marty ran out the front door with his skateboard, backpack, and a half eaten pop tart. When he stepped outside, his smooth, rounded face twitched and his blue eyes squinted at the chill of the morning breeze. His light brown hair overlapped the top half of his ears and almost touched his shoulders in the back. His flannel shirt remained unbuttoned on the top and his jeans were relaxed at the heels.

"Hurry it up, will ya!" His friend, Ned Hoffman called out to him from a half a block up the street. He was taller than Marty and had short, blond hair. When he saw that Marty was racing toward him, he got up from the curb and began skating ahead on his own skateboard.

"Hey Ned, wait up!" Marty dropped his skateboard to the ground, and raced down Lyon Estates Road. Ned paced himself so Marty would catch up.

"Hurry up Marty!" Ned called back as his friend got closer. "What took you so long? I've been waitin' forever!"

"Chill out, I overslept." Marty remarked when he had caught up to Ned.

"Well, then you shouldn't stay up so late."

"You sound just like my mom!" Marty snickered.

"Kiss my grits. I do not."

"Just kiddin'."

"Hey, did you here about that gang fight at the arcade last night?"

"Nope, I was at Greg's."

"Man, you should have seen it. The cops were there and everything!" Ned explained. "You know Ricky Helmfield?"

"Yeah, he's an eighth grader, isn't he?"

"Right. I guess he and some dude from Grass Valley got into a fight over something. They started pushin' each other and finally the dude behind the counter told 'em to stop it or he'd call the cops."

"Cool. And he did?"

"Yep. After the Grass Valley guy gave Ricky a bloody nose, the clerk called the cops and made everyone else go home. Hey, did you and Greg figure out another song for the band to play?"

"Either Johnny B. Goode, Imagine or some Beatles song."

"I wanna play Johnny B. Goode, that's a cool song." Ned said. "But I kinda wish Greg had an electric guitar, and Mike's drums—."

"Greg's gonna find something for Mike to play on. He wants his own drum set, but his parents won't let him have one."

When they got to the intersection where Lyon Estates Road met Highway 5, Marty spotted something with delight.

"Check out that new pickup truck comin' this way!" Marty gazed at the shiny new 1981 Ranger F-150 with admiration. Its shiny coat of bright red paint gleamed in the sun. The truck's appearance gave Marty the impression that it had come straight off the dealer's lot that morning.

"Big deal," Ned retorted. "Let's see you tow behind it." Marty looked at him, shocked by the suggestion.

"I don't know Ned, that truck's coming awful fast, and if it doesn't slow down—." Marty said, thinking cautiously about the potential hazard. But he was fruitlessly talking himself out of a dare.

"It'll slow." Ned said with pure confidence. "Besides, you were boasting the other day to those high schoolers that you were gonna do it." Marty didn't say anything. He simply stared at the truck, mesmerized by the hypnotic effect it had on him, as it got closer and closer.

"I _dare_ you to tow behind it." Ned leered. Those words plowed Marty down like a Mac truck, and Ned was driving it at full speed. And Ned knew it, for Marty never said no to a dare.

"You're not afraid, are you?" Ned teased.

"Of course not!" At that, Marty gave a heavy push on the asphalt and rushed past Ned. Marty looked back at him with an expressionless face; no fear.

"Hey Marty? You know, I was just kidding with you!" Ned shouted relentlessly, knowing it wouldn't help. It was too late; Marty was more concerned about the pickup going by. Ned was right; the vehicle was going about 15 or 20 miles per hour as it drove by.

He had always wanted to do this, so he sped up as the truck went by and grabbed a hold of the cab hatch. The driver didn't even notice! It looked so cool; he had seen it done so many times by the high schoolers. But he never had actually considered trying it himself, he had only been kidding.

Suddenly the truck decelerated and turned down a side street. Before he knew it, the truck was speeding up again and it wasn't going toward the school. Sure this was _cool,_ but Marty didn't know how to get off without killing himself! Looking back, he saw Ned at the intersection, shaking his head in bewilderment. After all, Marty deserved it. But Marty didn't think so! Once again, he was going to be late for school. He looked at his watch; it was seventeen minutes after eight o'clock. _Perfect_! Another 8 minutes of recess and school would start. He loosened his sweaty grip and straightened his feet out on the base of the board.

He was about to let go.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter Three**

**3:37 p.m.**

Hill Valley was known for two things. One was its downtown area, which had seen better days. The streets used to be booming with people drawn to the many stores and businesses. At present, the surviving stores, which barely made ends meat, stood struggling in the shadows of a splendid, well-built courthouse and its marvelous clock tower.

Which brings us to the second feature of this small California town. The county's judicial building, a grand, brick structure, built in the 1880's by the heart of America, overlooks Hill Valley's pathetic business district, in silence. The clock above the main entrance has not made a sound since the mid 1950's, when a precise lightning bolt struck the clock, paralyzing the hands in their final spot, four minutes after ten.

Everyone who was alive at that time remembered where he or she was when the clock had stopped on the night of November 12th, 1955.

And that's where it remains standing today.

Four minutes after ten o'clock. No more; no less. For the last 25 years, the city has refused to repair one of its most ingenious landmarks.

Today, like they always did, Marty and his friend skated down to Lou's Café, passing the courthouse displaying the silent clock.

Marty knew his mom's story about where _she_ was, on the night of November 12th. In fact, she and George were on their first date at a high school dance that evening.

Marty and his friends skated across the park in front of the courthouse. He was ahead of all of them, followed closely by Ned, one of the best skateboarders Marty knew. Greg, Scooter, and Tommy Hanson followed them. Tommy was Scooter's best friend but had almost the opposite personality, quiet and shy, however, he was rather outgoing when Scooter was around.

All five boys entered the café as one, and sat at the bar in one unbroken line. Marty sat down in between Ned and Greg. He and Tommy each ordered a Pepsi; Ned ordered a Tab, and Greg and Scooter got milkshakes.

The café was full with kids of all different ages and grades akin to Marty and his friends. The boys were there to impress the girls. The girls were there to check out the boys. Everyone was talking at once over the jukebox, which commonly played new wave groups such as _The Cars_, _Hall, and Oates_ and _the B-52_'s.

"That Ms. Garrison, man I hate her class! She's so boring. I hate math." Greg was saying. Marty turned to him.

"Me too. But I think Mr. Fredrickson's history class is worse." Marty scowled. "He should go jump in that ravine over by the tracks."

"Clayton Ravine." Scooter corrected him.

"Yeah, that's it. He told us it was named after some teacher that fell into it in the western days."

"Cool. Ms. Garrison should fall in too." Greg chimed.

"How did you know the story of Clayton Ravine?" Ned inquired, hastily. "You're never in class!"

"Everyone knows that story!" Marty smirked. "I guess one time when he was telling it, the accident got me thinkin' and I imagined old Fredrickson driving his old Pontiac over the side of the cliff."

Marty and his friends broke out roaring with laughter at the thought. But after a moment, Marty stopped laughing and gazed at the front entrance where a group of seventh grade girls had just walked in. One of them in particular caught Marty's full attention.

Her name was Brittany Schroeder. Marty watched as she brushed her long brown hair out of her sparkling baby blue eyes. She and her friends passed the counter and sat down at a booth to the far left of Marty, well out of earshot. Marty didn't take his eyes away from her for a second.

"Hey Marty, what's gotten into you?" Greg asked, looking back at where Marty was watching. After noticing Brittany, he sighed. "You're not gonna fall for her now, are you?"

"What's wrong with that?" Marty asked, now only glancing in her direction.

"Well, for one thing, she's only the_ hottest girl in school!_"

"Keep it down, will you!"

"Look, Marty, she won't go out with you. She's too popular."

"He's right, Marty." Ned included. "And she's probably got a boyfriend anyway."

"Who is it? I'll kick his ass!" Marty insisted. Ned and Greg looked at each other and shrugged.

"Why don't you go ask her?" Greg said, finally.

"What, right now? No way." Meanwhile the other boys had finished their drinks and got up to leave. Ned and Greg got up too.

"Hey, Greg, wait up for me." Greg sat back down.

"Hurry up." He said, impatiently. Marty hadn't finished his soda.

"Greg," Marty said quietly. "I want to ask her out but I don't know—."

"Go ahead."

"But you guys said she had a boyfriend."

"We were just foolin' with you, I don't know if she does." He looked beyond Marty. "But with a bod like that, she won't stay single for long." Greg teased, checking her out in a glance.

"Cut it out." Marty said, sipping the last of his soda.

"O.K. If you're not going to ask her, _I will_."

"Marty opened his mouth but never got the chance to say anything. Greg stood up.

"Stay cool, buddy." He said, advancing toward her booth.

"Jesus Christ, Greg," Marty muttered to himself.

She was on the outside of the booth sitting with four other girls. Her back was to the boys.

"Hey, Brittany?" Greg asked.

"Yeah?" Brittany looked up.

"Has anyone asked you to the dance yet?"

All four girls stared at Greg. "No." Brittany said, curiously. She looked up at Greg with a question mark expression.

"Well, I have a friend who really likes you. He wanted to know if you'd go out with him." Brittany blushed and the other girls were quiet. Greg turned around, and pointed to an empty stool.

"Who?'' Brittany asked, looking at the empty stool.

"Uh, never mind." He muttered back, running out the door.

· · · ·

Greg found Marty leaning against the side of the café, waiting. He had been watching from the window near Brittany's table.

"I can't believe you asked her out for me." Marty said as soon as Greg came out of the café.

" I can't believe _you_ chickened out!" Greg said.

Marty stared at the ground. Finally he asked, "What did she say?"

"Relax, I didn't tell her who you are, but I found out she's hasn't been asked out yet. You practically got yourself a date. Now all you gotta do is ask her yourself." Marty let out a sigh. Greg explained. "Look, I'm sorry. C'mon, let's go to the arcade and find Ned and the guys."

"Greg," Marty hesitated, "You go on ahead. I'll talk to you tomorrow." Greg nodded silently, and looked at Marty.

"Are you gonna ask her-?"

"No." Marty exclaimed. "Not yet anyway."

Greg turned away and smiled, chuckling to himself, as he skated down the street for the Seven-Eleven.


End file.
